


Sugar Daddy

by TheMouthKing



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: 19 year old Rhett McLaughlin, 39 year old Link Neal, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dorm Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nike box, Slight Internalized Homophobia, Smut, Sugar Baby, Sugar Daddy, Time Travel, Tropetastic Tuesday, Weaponized Rhink, based on a meme, just do it, shamu - Freeform, thirsty fight, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMouthKing/pseuds/TheMouthKing
Summary: Thirty-nine year old Link Neal wakes up in his and Rhett's freshman dorm room in the past. Maybe somewhere in the future, an eighteen year old Link Neal is waking up in bed beside a thirty-nine year old Rhett McLaughlin.





	Sugar Daddy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annabelle_leigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabelle_leigh/gifts).



> I think we can safely blame annabelle_leigh for her hand in this. 
> 
> [Mclaughneal](https://mclaughneal.tumblr.com/) gets some blame for her [meme.](https://mclaughneal.tumblr.com/post/162478877161)

Link can remember the dorm room he’d shared with Rhett in freshman year down to the last detail.

Or, well, he thinks he can, anyway. Twenty years is a long time. It muddies the once clear picture in his mind, fades out the edges. It’s not so crisp now as it once was, it blurs out like the stack of letters at the optometrist’s office when he finally came to terms with the fact that he needed glasses.

He’d recognize it if he saw it again, if he opened his eyes one morning and woke up in the middle of it, but it wouldn’t be like waking up there when he was eighteen. It wouldn’t be like hopping down off the top bunk, pulling a fresh t-shirt from his dresser and on over his head before digging out the half-finished sheet of math homework from the stack of textbooks on his desk. He wouldn’t land in the middle of the story with all the context of the day before and the day before that all fresh in his mind. It’d be more like walking through a set the crew had made in replica, or sinking into a dream where he was back in freshman year on no day in particular. None of the Monday morning anxiety of _gotta get to class, gonna be late, is my homework done?_ but just this vague sense of not being in the right place, in the right time.

That’s how it is when he wakes up this morning. It’s a weird feeling, the kind of sensation you get the first night you sleep over with a friend, like your body’s expecting to wake up in your own room and you’re startled to find out where you actually are. He expects to wake up with Rhett stretched out in bed beside him, to see the crisp matte white of his bedroom ceiling, the fan lazily circling overhead, but instead it’s that godawful dormitory drop-ceiling way closer than it oughta be. The kind that takes to pencils thrown upwards like darts so damn easy it’s irresistible.

He reaches out for his glasses. There’s no nightstand there though, no glasses, no table lamp, no iPhone plugged into the wall. No alarm clock to turn off, no Jade interrupting the reach with her warm, wet tongue in greeting and to ask to be let out. Just empty air.

Maybe he’d missed. Maybe he’s still half-asleep, trapped between a dream and awake. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he rolls to his side to look for the nightstand before he swipes for it again so he doesn’t miss this time. He quickly forgets about the lack of a nightstand when what he sees is their college dorm room in all it’s half-filthy, half-tidy glory. Suddenly, waking up without Rhett at his side is the least of his worries.

He freezes in place, eyes wide, taking it all in like he was seeing it for the first time, even though he’s not. Even though he and Rhett had called this windowless room home for nine months twenty years ago. This is definitely not where he oughta be.  

He can’t even begin to guess what’s going on. A thousand ideas are swimming through his head. He’s been working too hard, so stressed from the frantic writing, filming, engagement schedule that he’s imagining this, hallucinating. Or maybe it’s a prank. After all, the crew had pictures of the dorm, maybe they’d recreated it to mess with him. Or maybe he’s still dreaming.

The longer he sits looking out at the room, the sense of wrongness he has settles in more. He’s telling himself that on the other side of the door is the studio. That if he gets up, maybe he’ll snap out of this. He sits up and swings his legs down, glances down to get a sense of the distance from the bed to the floor and hops it. He immediately realizes that he should have taken the ladder, but he’d never taken the ladder coming down, always jumped it. He’s not as young as he used to be, though. First thing in the morning he’s not so nimble, especially. He lands hard and with a groan, his joints protesting with a series of pops and cracks as he walks across the room.

He doesn’t think to look at the bottom bunk. His aim had been to walk out the door and into the studio, but he catches sight of the mirror on the back of it and pauses before his hand goes for the knob, stepping into the direct center and looking at himself.

He _is_ himself. He’s Link, thirty nine years old with a few days of silver-flecked stubble and hair that goes up with a good dollop of pomade (but which is currently going bedhead-sideways). He’s muscular from these past few years working out more at the gym, from eating right and chasing the kids. But he’s wearing a woven hemp anklet on his left ankle like he had in college, the white puka shell necklace he’d gotten sometime in the end of freshman year and worn all through sophomore year till he lost it on spring break and didn’t get another one. He’s wearing faded Spiderman briefs that dig into his hipbones just a hair more than he’d remembered. He’s changed since college, gained muscle, changed the style of underwear he buys because _this kind_ is practically obscene, the y front gaping just slightly for how tight they are.

“Link?”

He’d know that voice anywhere, has heard it on a daily basis for over thirty years as the two men traveled through their life together, friends that became partners in every sense of the word. Sharing a business, and, after far, far too long, sharing everything else. But Rhett’s voice… it’s different than usual somehow. Rougher and smoother all at once, with more than just a passing hint of south warming the edges. “You alright, man?”

Link turns to look at Rhett and just stands frozen in place. It’s right then and there that _prank_ comes off the table. He doesn’t need to try the door to know they’re not in the studio anymore, not in California. Not in 2017.

“Rhett.”

“Whoa, what the fuck—”

Rhett’s eighteen, nineteen. This is freshman year Rhett working his way up to a chinstrap, growing out his buzzcut, all gangly long limbs and intense eyes, wound up tight like a drum with tension.

“What the _crap?_ ” Link breathes, eyebrows knitted together as he takes this in. Rhett’s a teenager. A _teenager_. And he’s just as apparently confused as Link is, staring at Link like he’s getting the shock of his life. He doesn’t need to ask to know that Rhett can see the discrepancy here, too.

“You got Big!”

“What?” Link’s confused, doesn’t get what he’s talking about. Sure, he’s put on some muscle, but he’s not so much bigger. _Big_ isn’t the difference here, old is. Link’s got silver in his hair and beard and he might not have been so surprised if Rhett had latched onto that, except of course he doesn’t, yet, in the din of their cramped and airless dorm room.

“Big. Like Tom Hanks _Big._ You changed. Overnight. You…” he doesn’t honestly know.

Maybe Link doesn't see the difference as starkly as Rhett does, because Link had gone to bed old and woken up old in a new place, but Rhett had gone to bed in the same room as eighteen year old Link and woke up with _him_. This Link is older, but he’s stronger, more solid, more comfortable in his skin. More connected to himself, somehow, like the way he moves has more intention somehow. Like he’s lived in this skin way longer than eighteen years.

Link gets the movie reference. It’s one they’d watched together as kids, joked about how weird it’d be if they woke up as men one night out of the blue. What they’d do first. Link always said he’d just enjoy getting to do whatever he wanted, not need to ask anyone’s permission for anything anymore. Rhett had joked that he’d take the opportunity to hit on older girls, on women. He hadn’t made the joke that he’d take the opportunity to hit on older men too, because that wasn’t something that was even on his radar yet, not somewhere he thought he’d ever go. But now’s a different story.

“No, I’m not… not Big.”

“What happened, man?” Rhett’s pushing to his feet, stuffing his blankets in a wad against the wall the way, Link remembers, he did sometimes when he thought he was being slick. When he was trying to hide that he’d unearthed that god-awful plush Shamu and hadn’t had a chance to hide it properly yet.

“I don’t know, I—” Link scratches his head, fingers raking through his messy hair, and he watches Rhett’s eyes follow the lift of his arm. Sees them track along the hard line of his bicep, skirt down his chest.

“…found a fuckin’ Zoltar and wished to get jacked.”

Link doesn’t know if he’d call his current build _jacked_ , per say, but apparently Rhett does if the tone of awe is any indication.

Link knew now that Rhett had wanted him for years. For goddamn decades. Rhett told him one night when they lay curled together, after. Said he’d wanted him longer than he could remember, since before he really knew what wanting meant. Before Link’s voice had deepened, he’d been curious, had thoughts. Never dared to try anything, not ever, not _once_. Not until they were nearly forty years old, till they were married and had kids and had settled into themselves. Until they’d gotten so close that it just slipped.

“No… I’m not, not…” he pauses, tries again, “I’m thirty-nine. I’m not in college anymore, we got jobs and lives and—”

“You’re from the future?” Rhett latches onto that explanation, eyes shining.

“No, I—”

“Yeah, you are. You’re Future Link.”

“I mean, I guess _technically_ …”

“How’d you get here?” Rhett’s pushing into Link’s space now, crossing the small room with big steps. He’s not much more clothed than Link is, wearing baggy boxers that hang off his skinny hips. “…got a DeLorean parked out back?”

“No, I dunno, I just woke up. Woke up _here_ instead of home in California.”

“We live in California?”

There’s no question that it’s _we_. That twenty years in the future it’s still _us_. Maybe that’s not so much born from certainty but from desperation. Link sees a flicker of that now, in Rhett’s eyes — he’s not certain that he followed Link into the future, but he’s desperate to know if they had.

“Yeah, we do.” How much should Link tell him? He doesn’t wanna tell him anything that changes things. Rhett’s always talking about timelines, about the multiverse, about paradoxes, but he’d never thought it was practical. Never really listened hard enough to know what to do if he found himself facing down his best friend and lover twenty years in the past. How much is too much to say?

“So we’re still friends.” Rhett’s squaring off the closer he gets, standing tall as he can, edging into Link’s space like he’s sizing him up. Like he’s gauging to see if he could still take him. Like he’s trying to read something on him, look through him, get the answer to some question he hasn’t asked yet. Doesn’t know how to.

Link can’t get past the intensity of Rhett’s eyes. He sees it when he looks back at old photos, but it’s different to be face to face with it, in person, with the perspective of years bringing it into stark relief.

Bearded and nearing forty, Rhett’s almost a different person now. He’s a married father of two giving open relationships a try with the strong support of their wives. Rhett at almost forty is more comfortable in his skin, he’s softer all the way from his eyes to his middle and Link has told him more than once that he loves that about him. The way the years have rubbed over him, polished him to a shine.

Nineteen years old, Rhett’s all hard edges. Sharp eyes and elbows, visible ribs and hip bones. He’s coiled tight like he’s afraid something in him will get out if he relaxes, if he lets go of himself, and now Link knows that all that fear was about _him_. That Rhett had been terrified of being obvious, of slipping up and telling Link how bad he wanted to touch him, kiss him, mess around with him and never fucking stop.

Link knows now that’s why they wrestled. It’s where the dead move came from. It’s why Rhett would go too far into the aggression, too much, too hard, too annoying and then bolt. It’s why he swung wildly between extremes, one minute pressing Link’s skinny body to the floor of their shared dorm just to feel his skin and the next ignoring his entire existence. Because he couldn’t find a happy medium, because there wasn’t a balance to be had, not when he was fighting this war against himself.

And Link can see it all in Rhett’s eyes now. The flickers of heated interest chased by cool distance. It’s heartbreaking because he knows, because he’d held Rhett as he told him, because he heard the way his voice broke when he told Link how deep in the closet he’d been and for how long. How afraid he’d been, afraid of what his family would say, what their friends would say, but most of all, afraid that being honest with himself would mean losing the only person in all of it who mattered. Afraid it’d mean losing Link.

“Yeah, man,” Link says, voice soft and sadder than he’d like it to be. “We’re still friends. More than.” Maybe that’s okay, maybe that much isn’t too much. Maybe it’s like a slip of hope he can pass to Rhett, something to hold onto to make the next twenty years easier to bear.

Suddenly Link thinks maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe Rhett didn’t wanna know that. It’s just a brief reaction, a split second where it looks like he’d been struck. Like Link’s words were a slap to the face.

“What’s that mean,” Rhett pushes, a question without a question mark because he’s not asking, he’s telling Link to tell him.

Link doesn’t quite know where to go from here. He’s so far removed from dealing with this Rhett, and _god,_ there’d been so many times where they’d just ended up butting heads and Link had to just go for a walk or a run and give the angry young man some space. He doesn’t know what to do, how to handle him directly in any way but the ways they used to. Avoidance or collision, nothing in between.

“Partners… business partners… we, ah… we work together,” he fumbles along, eyes cast down and watching their feet as he backs up, as Rhett keeps moving, keeps pushing into his space. Crowds him back against the door.

“That’s not what you meant,” Rhett’s voice is sharp and he’s using it to prod for the answer he’s looking for. Using it as warning that if Link doesn’t make good with his answer, that he’s gonna find a better way to get him talking.

“What the hell, Rhett, back off,” Link’s keyed up, wired from waking up twenty years and thousands of miles from home, from his wife, his kids, his Rhett. He doesn’t wanna fight, he wants to figure this out, wants to get back to his warm bed and his Rhett stretched out at his side cause today’s the girls’ day with the kids and each other.

“What’d’ja mean.”

“I’m not messin’ around, Rhett, I don’t wanna play like this—”

It’s remarkable how easy it is to find himself bowled over by the way Rhett starts these wrestling matches, even now. How quick he gets wrapped up in the bob and weave rhythm of their old disagreements. The way Rhett makes it all but inevitable that a conversation’s gonna end on the floor.

Rhett’s hand slaps flat against Link’s chest, angling to push him back against the door, and Link sweeps it back off, easy. He knows Rhett’s moves and he’s stronger now, more of a contender. But Rhett’s not about to be so easily put off. Rhett dives for his shoulder and shoves before Link’s got a chance to shake him off, feels satisfied at the solid thud of Link’s body hitting the mirrored door. But it doesn't stick.

Link recovers easily and shoves Rhett off, two hands against his scrawny chest sending him back several steps, lets Link gain some ground. Put some distance between himself and the mirror, the door.

Rhett’s got this wild look about him, this excited gleam in his eye. He’s gotten a taste of Link _pushing back_. Link strong and capable, Link with muscles that cut shapes when he moves and he wants a hell of a lot more than just a taste.

“Say it,” Rhett prods as he stabs his fingertips into Link’s sternum, pushing. Link swats at him, annoyed. It hurts to be touched like that and Rhett knows it, knows how to make his words hard and his hands harder when he wants to wear through Link’s patience quick as he can.

“Rhett, I’m not doin’ this with you,” he’s starting to slip into his old accent, his rising anger and Rhett’s rumbling voice drawing it out of him like a salve.

Rhett slaps him across the face, hard enough that it stops time for a second. Rhett never slapped him unless Link slapped him first. Wrestling was one thing but slapping was another, and it was typically something Link only did when he was down and losing ground and desperate to find any way to climb out.

Ruthless, Rhett uses that stupefied pause, comes around Link ready to go. Arms whip around his neck, his shoulders, works him into a headlock with practiced ease.

“Tell me what you meant by that!”

Link’s hands go for Rhett’s arms even though he knows that’s not the way to win. It’s just reflex, muscle memory, it’s him slipping back in time to when he almost always lost to Rhett when they fought.

“Get off me,” Link barks and remembers himself, thinks with the strategy of the full length of his years and the times he’d gotten out of Rhett’s vice grip and how, and he brings his elbow down into his ribs. It’s not as hard as he could have, but there’s still part of him that wants to protect Rhett. That sees a scared and vulnerable boy in the hard angles and rough words of the young man at his back. The move only serves to briefly loosen his grip, but Link’s ready and tries to take advantage of the moment, tries to pry and throw him off and get away.

But Rhett’s ready too, and what he comes back with is a sweep of one unreal-long leg that floors the both of them. They’ll pay for this later in bruises and sore ribs, but for now it puts them exactly where Rhett wanted them, with Link pinned beneath him on the floor with the air punched from their bodies. Predictably, Rhett goes limp and lets the full weight of his body blanket Link, holding him pinned under the sheer mass of him.

Link was always at the disadvantage here when he was young. He never knew what was going on, why Rhett always insisted on doing this no matter how many times Link told him he hated it and wished he’d stop. Years later, after the first time they’d gone to bed together (not just sharing it cause they had to, but _together_ ) Rhett told him why he kept on doing the dead move as long as he had. That it was an excuse to touch him. A way to discharge all this pent up energy that sparked between them, a chance to feel Link’s body beneath his own. Link had told him, during that confession, that he’d started to wonder if that’s what it was about. That sometimes he thought he felt Rhett pressed against his ass, not-quite soft. That once or twice he’d caught a moan.

“I’m dead.”

And here they are again now, Rhett with Link right where he needs him to get all he dares to take when he can’t have what he wants most from him. But would it really be so bad to give Rhett what it is he’s wanting?

It’s not even really a conscious thought. How many times had he found himself here, desperately wishing he could give in to the ache in his body when he felt Rhett pressed against him and just _move?_ Now… now he can. Unlike his eighteen year old self, he doesn’t have anything to lose and he’s got the strength to push back. So he does. Just shifts a little at first, starts this slow, unmistakable grind and roll of his hips and moans, low and open.

Link’s not sure what he expected, probably wouldn’t have been shocked to hear Rhett snap back at him to quit it, but that’s not at all what happens.

What happens next is that Rhett just completely malfunctions. It’s clear that whatever Rhett imagined was gonna happen, this sure as hell wasn’t it — that maybe he’d hoped for it, maybe he’d filled in the gap between what always happened and what he wanted in his mind and now it was so near to real he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Rhett’s breath comes shuddering and hard and he turns his face towards the back of Link’s neck, presses his forehead there and lets his hips move with Link’s. Meets that hard press up with an artless but determined rock of his own hips, more enthusiasm and energy than experience. Link moans again, hand curling into a fist against the carpet as he arches his back, presses his ass up harder into Rhett. There’s something thrilling to feel Rhett at his back like this. Not his Rhett, but a wilder one. Somehow more desperate at nineteen even though he hadn’t been wanting nearly so long as his Rhett had been when they’d finally come together.

Link has a flash of memory, of a conversation they’ve had a few times in the last couple of months since the new phase of their relationship had started, Link and his own Rhett. How badly Rhett wished they’d done this sooner. Started to mess around back in college. How he wished they hadn’t missed out on so much time. Neither of them wanted to change much, they still wanted to end up with the lives they had now. With Jessie and Christy and the kids, the dogs, the show. They just wanted _them_ sooner than later. Wanted to make up for lost time.

Maybe this is Link getting a chance to make up for his biggest regret. Getting to send a message back in time, one that’ll change things, that’ll give Rhett what he needs to bridge the canyon of cluelessness and denial between them twenty years sooner than they’d managed to without help.

“We’re together… you and me, in the future. We fuck,” Link says, cheek to the carpet and all caught up in the feel of Rhett’s body, heavy on his. He can’t think of how better to phrase it; he’s more than a little distracted.

“I wanna fuck,” the words erupt against the skin of the nape of Link’s neck like they’d been boiling beneath the surface so long, until they couldn’t be contained any longer.

Link groans and turns his head, for a moment letting his forehead press to the rough carpet while he brings an arm up, looking for leverage to move. Rhett apparently interprets that as a threat, like he wants to escape and moves to stop him. Wraps around him with his whole body, taking up the space Link gains as soon as he gains it. With a gap between Link’s chest and the floor, Rhett coils one long arm around his middle and holds on desperately tight.

“Rhett…”

“Please…” Link’s never heard Rhett sound like that before. The word almost breaks, whisper soft against his neck, the only hint of vulnerability that slips out of the cracks in this wall Rhett’s built around himself.

“Please?” Link echoes, needs more than just the impulsive _I wanna fuck_ , the broken _please._ He’s looking for explicit permission.

“Want you to show me…” Rhett says, but he’s simultaneously grinding against Link’s ass, harder in his boxers than he ought to be at this stage of the game, the fabric of their underwear the only thing keeping them apart. "If this is what we do in the future… prove it. Show me what I like.”

It doesn’t make a lick of sense but it’s exactly the kind of thing Rhett would say, rolling with the time travel thing and leaning into the weirdness of it all. But Link can’t deny him, not knowing how long Rhett had wanted him. Not presented with the chance to take a different door.

Being back in this room feels like he’s moving back in time inside himself too, like he’s sinking back into the feeling of being eighteen and so dumb. Of wanting Rhett so badly but being so ashamed for feeling that way, but still humping the mattress to bring himself off to staccato thoughts of being pinned down by him mixed up with the images from the dirty magazines he kept stashed in the closet. But he’s not that sex-shy kid anymore.

“Yeah, okay,” he gives, breaks beneath the gravity of this. “Let up, c’mon, I can’t do anything if you won’t let me move.”

Things start happening then. Start happening fast. Rhett loosens his hold on Link, and Link turns over beneath him, on his back, stares up at Rhett. It’s the closest Rhett’s been to Link like this, today, and he’s searching his face like he’s looking for the Link he knows under the scruff and age. He’s definitely older, but he looks damned good regardless. It’s twenty years different, though, that’s for sure. Twenty years this man has lived without him — with another Rhett — and he’s desperate to get a taste of that time that hasn't come for him yet. To get a preview. Spoilers.

Rhett only gets a few seconds to stare, to drink it in, because Link’s got other plans. He swings a leg out and locks it around Rhett’s, uses the momentum to push them over. To pin Rhett down to the carpeted floor and grind against him again. But this time they’re front to front, and it’s Link’s swiftly hardening cock straining the too-tight y fronts dragging over Rhett, through his loose boxers.

“Ohfuck,” Rhett gasps, stormy eyes gone glassy as he stares up at him from the floor. He reaches up, one of those big hands catching the back of Link’s neck and he hauls him down for a bruising kiss. Link catches himself, hands braced against the floor, bracketing Rhett’s body.

They move fast, set a pace that’s frantic, like they can't move fast enough to catch up to where they wanna be. Can't get close enough to satisfy the magnet pull between them.

Rhett wasn't kidding about wanting to fuck, about wanting Link to show him. He can't even guess how they settle out in the future, how Link is in bed, how _he_ is. Right now, Rhett wants everything, he'd do _anything_. Fuck him or be fucked by him, suck him off, let him fuck his face, anything at all. But he wants it in that wild clueless way, where just the thought of it’s more than enough to have him flushed and straining his pants. He doesn’t know where to start, what to do, hell, even how to ask for it. Messing around with a girl’s different than this, because he’s got some vague sense of how it oughta go. There’s a script boys talk about when they get to an age, the stuff that happens, where to put your hands. This is foreign ground, it’s a play without dialog and his brain’s offline, can’t make up lines on the fly. He needs help cause he doesn’t know how they fit together.

“Mm,” Link muses, pulling back from Rhett’s mouth for air, hand moving to rub over Rhett’s cheek and jaw, to urge him to stay down, so he can talk. “I've got lube… I think maybe, anyway. I used to keep a shoe box in the bottom of the closet…”

It’s half laying down the thread of next-steps, gauging Rhett for his reaction to the suggestion of lube and what that means. But it’s half unsure his memory is accurate, if he’s got the box tucked away yet or still.

Apparently, that’s exactly the direction Rhett’s wanting to go, because he jumps at the suggestion.

“The Nike box,” Rhett says without missing a beat. He twists out of Link’s grasp and is up like a shot, throws the closet door open and goes right to Link’s side of it, moving other, legitimate shoe boxes and Link’s gym bag out of the way until he’s got the Nike box in his hands. He’s seen it before, happened across it once when he was looking for his high tops and was convinced Link had them on his side of the closet and was just lying about it. But he’d never really looked. He’d opened it up and _seen_ but never looked.

Now he is. He’s standing there, faced away from where he’d left Link on the floor all of three feet behind him, rifling through Link’s box of dirty secrets to find the lube. He lifts the little stack of half-rolled magazines and picks up the little tube of lube there, sees one in particular that catches his eye. Rather than a Playboy, with a picture of a naked woman on the cover, there’s one with a picture of a man. Rhett lifts the top magazine again, awkward with the lube in one hand and the other hand holding the box, to get a better look at the magazine. He can tell without digging further that this one’s more dog-eared than the girly mags on top. More read through than the others.  
   
“Come to daddy.”  
   
Link’s voice cuts through Rhett’s wild, racing thoughts and for a split second he’s terrified that it’s _his_ Link, that he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. That Link’s gonna know he’s been in his stash, the low rumble of Link’s voice startling him out of the context of what was going on.

Flustered, he drops the box at his feet, heart still pounding in his chest when he turns, the bottle of lube clenched in his fist as he catches sight of Link spread out on the floor. Naked.  
   
He’d clearly spent the time Rhett was rifling through the closet wriggling out of his underwear, thrown them at Rhett because they’re discarded at his feet.  
   
Link is fucking gorgeous. It’s not news to him, not by a long shot, but it’s different now for so many reasons. Chief among them being the fact that he _is_ different. He’s more muscular, he’s lost the baby-face softness in the lines of his cheeks, his jaw. He’s a man, not a boy playing at adulthood, stretching out into his eighteen year old body and trying to be taken seriously even though he looks like some teen heart throb. He’s more confident… and more naked. And he’s asking him to come back, inviting him to look. Staring up at Rhett from the floor like he’s the one looking down on him. Like he’s gonna eat him alive.  
   
It hits him then, what he’d said sinks in: daddy. _Shit_ , that’s something he didn’t know about himself, something he hadn’t expected to be so fucking hot, but it is. It’s unreal. Feels like he’s about to suffocate.  
   
“I said c’mere…” Link pats the floor beside him, pushes up on his elbows so he can watch Rhett come back to him. When he’s close enough, Link’s hand skims up his calf, grabs the hem of his boxers, wasting no time in tugging them down and off. His attention follows the elastic waist until it’s dragging down the length of his hard cock, exposing him slow until he bobs free, then that’s where his gaze lingers as those boxers hit the floor.  
   
Link’s hand caresses up from Rhett’s ankle, curls around the back of his calf like a wordless invitation, like he’s telling him to sink to his knees. To settle back down here on the floor with him, and if he’s got to make himself more clear he’s not going to be so gentle. That’s obvious enough in the expression on his face, the predatory look in his eye.

Rhett’s barely on his knees, astride Link’s narrow hips, when Link’s tugging him closer. Hands on his thighs, fingers tucked behind his knees and he’s using his strength to make Rhett crawl closer up the length of his body till he’s in his reach, till he’s right where he wants him.

It’s maybe less gentle than Link realizes. Rhett feels like he’s losing his balance and drops the lube and it hits Link square on the chest and bounces off to the floor, Rhett flailing his arms out to stay upright, but he’s losing the fight. He catches himself awkwardly, one palm slapping down against Link’s hard shoulder, the other flat to the carpet.

It feels to Rhett like Link’s everywhere somehow. A hand grips his beardless jaw and pulls his face down where it’s wanted, so Link barely has to lean up to catch those already kiss-bruised lips with his own.

There’s not enough hair to catch his fingers in and Link misses that, but he likes the feel of the grown out buzz beneath his palm as he rakes his fingers up the back of Rhett's neck.

Rhett arches beneath Link’s hands when fingertips skim down along his spine, when strong, warm hands cup his ass and squeeze. When they spread his cheeks apart slow, when a fingertip brushes against him _there_. Rhett’s struggling to breathe, has to pull away from the kiss for just a second but Link doesn’t let him. Chases him, biting his way back to colliding with his mouth.

Rhett feels a finger against his entrance, this time slick and sudden. He hadn’t noticed anything that should have tipped him off that it was coming, that Link had even clicked open the cap on the lube, and his hand moves back to Link’s shoulder, grabs hold tight. He’s coiled tight with tension but Link’s there beneath him like an anchor, steady and solid. He’s sparking when that finger starts to move, unable to be still, hips squirming as Link sinks it into him. He doesn’t have long to be uncomfortable because Link curls his finger and rubs and Rhett startles, hips bucking back. His hand curls into a tight fist, pressed against Link’s chest, and their lips part for a second to squeak, _“What?”_

It’s all he can manage. He knows what he wants and where this is going, but this _feeling_. He doesn’t know what it is, doesn't have words to describe the sensation or what it is Link's doing with his fingers. He's touched himself, but never like this, or if he has, never with enough knowledge to find that place inside him Link seems honed in on, that place that coils him up hot. Face flushed, his breath comes out in a harsh exhale when he feels Link’s finger move in him again, rocking into him deeply.

“What’re you d-doin’ to me…” he groans against Link’s strong chest, laying a mindless kiss against his collar bone. Link doesn’t stop fucking him slow with his finger, and soon, fingers, working Rhett open as quick as he could but as slow as Rhett needs it. He’s not about to hurt him, not gonna make this anything less than exactly what he needs it to be.

“…showin’ you what you like, baby…” he breathes in Rhett’s ear as he kisses his neck. Rhett’s ready for it before Link decides he is, so torn he can’t decide what he wants more, to rock back on Link’s fingers or forward to grind down against his belly. He’s on the verge of asking, of begging Link for more cause like this he’s almost close enough to cum, but not quite being able to string words together keeps him from it. In the end, he doesn’t have to because suddenly, everything changes.

Link’s hand is gone and they’re moving. Rhett grabs for Link, needy and clinging, but they’re not going far. Link kisses him hard when they land and, when he tries to pull back and Rhett follows, wraps his hand around Rhett’s throat in a firm but gentle warning as if to say _stay_. The flash of startled and unguarded lust that clouds Rhett’s eyes tells him he wasn’t wrong here, that a hand at his throat was another constant between his Rhett and this one. That it was an interest that went back a ways.

Rhett doesn’t need to be told to part his legs. That happens naturally as Link moves over him, settles where he wants to be. Rhett spreads easy, already eased by the slow stretch of Link’s long fingers. Rhett stares up at him, eyes wide as Link takes himself in one slick hand, stroking once. Rhett can see it in his periphery, and as bad as he wants to look down he can’t tear his eyes from Link's, from the way he's looking at him like he's looking through him, holding him pinned beneath all that intensity.

He shifts in reflex, their bodies moving together as Link starts to shift into position, legs spreading wider. Link takes one long thigh in hand as he guides himself home with the other, keeps a hold of that thigh as he sinks into Rhett slow and easy. The discomfort of the stretch keeps Rhett from coming once Link’s inside him, as soon as their bodies are pressed flush. His face is hot with arousal, the discomfort not enough to cool his lust. It’s just so much. It’s too much, Link holding him spread wide and receptive and taking him completely, just sinking into him like Rhett belongs to him, like he's his for the taking. Rhett swallows thickly, eyes screwed shut tight and he’s trying to remember how to breathe. He doesn’t want Link to think he can’t take this, doesn’t wanna come off this inexperienced, this stupid, but he’s helpless against it.

“Lookit me,” Link growls, and Rhett’s startled to hear how close he is, his voice just inches from his face.

He blinks up at him, not realizing until just then that his eyes are wet, that he’s tearing up from how damn overwhelmed he is. But he’s okay, he needs Link to know that. He just can’t find the words to say it.

It’s too soon but he’s desperate not to scare Link, and the leg Link’s not gripping wraps tight around his waist, very clearly pulling him _in_. A clear message not to stop, even if the resulting shallow thrust aches through the core of Rhett’s being, steals a whine from him.

Link’s starting to lose him again, sees it in how his eyes go glassy and unfocused. He lets go of his thigh and claps his hand on Rhett’s jaw, grips tight then loosens, thumb drawing along his lower lip to focus him. “Look.”

 _“Please,”_ he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. _Just fuck me,_ or maybe just simply _don’t stop, I’m okay._

That’s when Link starts to move, when he rocks against Rhett for the first time since sinking in. Rhett’s legs wrap around him together, crossed at the ankles like he can keep Link here with him as long as he needs him here with his long, long legs.

The discomfort that had brought Rhett back from near the edge of coming with barely any friction on his dick was dying as they moved together, as Link found rhythm with him, set the pace and took the lead. Rhett gets to the edge again astonishingly fast, doesn’t even know he’s gonna come when he does. It hits him so fast and so hard he couldn’t have warned Link if he’d wanted to, didn’t know himself until it hit him like a punch. Like being shoved off a cliff and left praying the water beneath him isn’t rocky, that it's somewhere safe. That he’ll be able to figure out which way is up and surface again for air.

It’s incredible to watch. Rhett’s so splotchy red in the face he looks like he’s going to explode, like he’s gonna stroke out. Link’s struck by just how _young_ he is, how pleasure’s still brand new to him and when it’s good it’s all consuming, earth shattering. It’s still good with Rhett, God it’s so good, but sometimes, _sometimes_ it feels like he’s a little distant. Like he’s miles away. They try hard to leave stress at the door of whatever bedroom they’re in and just be together, but that’s not always easy as busy as they are. As many directions as they’re both pulled these days, between their families and their work.

This is what Link missed out on by not figuring himself out with Rhett when they were kids. He missed this single-minded need, missed having all of Rhett’s attention to himself.

They’re not done here, because Link’s not done. He fucks Rhett through his orgasm, through the tension that shakes out of his body until he’s limp and boneless beneath him. His legs aren’t wrapped around him anymore, like he’s suddenly too tired to keep it up, so Link adjusts. His hand finds Rhett’s thigh again, pushes it up wide and fucks into him. Grinds against him, using those hips to chase the feelings he wants, using Rhett’s body to get himself off. Because this is something Rhett loves, too, when he’s already fucked out and Link’s still chasing his own pleasure. He likes feeling used when it’s Link doing the using. Likes being exactly what Link needs.

When Link comes, he’s shuddering and vocal. Link’s got a hand still in the crook of Rhett’s knee, holding himself up with one arm, the muscles of his arms defined and prominent from his effort. Rhett’s watching him through half-lidded eyes like a lazy, contented cat, unwilling to miss a moment. He can’t look away from those broad shoulders, from the line of his neck and the bob of his goozle as he throws his head back and comes with a garbled shout.

Problem is, where Rhett at nearly forty would be finally, blissfully close to a nap after being so thoroughly fucked, nineteen year old Rhett is starting to thicken again through it. The oversensitive, overstimulated, _too much_ hadn’t lasted long and he’d started to recover, started to rebound fast. Undersexed enough that he’s on his way to ready to go again before Link’s even finished coming inside him.

…maybe that’s not really a problem, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for liking, commenting, and subscribing. ;)


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